𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 ; 𝐤𝐚𝐳𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚 . ◈

fatui harbingers

There are three little-known facts about Scaramouche.

The first is that he likes noodles, obviously. The second is that he might be falling in love with one Kaedehara Kazuha, but he hasn't entirely figured that out for himself yet.

And the third is that Signora scares the shit out of him.

So, naturally, when a letter from the woman herself arrives for him some few days after his horrifying love-revelation, he doesn't hesitate to open it. He also doesn't hesitate to follow through on its contents, which demand his presence in Liyue, a meeting between the active-duty Harbingers to update each other on their progress.

This is because Signora is terrifying, of course, but also because it means that Scaramouche won't have to deal with the disastrous consequences of his triple rule-breaking for two weeks.

It's a victory on all counts, as far as he's concerned.

"You better keep it in your pants while I'm gone," he tells Kazuha, who'd not only woken him up in time to leave before daylight, but had also come to see him off. "It's only two weeks. Deal with it on your own until I get back."

Kazuha's response to this bitter, highly-insulting implication, of course, is to dip his head with a smile of assent. Then, he hands Scaramouche the small box he'd been carrying with him, a rectangular bamboo container.

He slides the lid open, because he's curious, and finds himself staring down at a series of carefully wrapped rice balls, handmade and dusted with vinegar in a way that ensures they'll be good for at least a few days.

Of course.

Scaramouche spends most of the trip to Liyue with the box sitting innocuously in his lap, or held close to his chest, as he sincerely contemplates tossing it into the sea. Every time he attempts to do just that, though, some strange, twisting sensation in his chest prevents him from doing so.

Eventually, he decides that the better use for the rice balls is to eat them. Slowly, and directly in front of Childe's envious face as the boy unsubtly tries to sneak his hand in to grab one.

"Are you paying attention?" Signora asks, idly inspecting the lacquer of her painted nails, because they're very obviously not.

Both he and Childe are the proud owners of a great respect--a respect, not a fear --of Signora, and her arctic voice from behind them makes Scaramouche nearly choke on his rice ball as Childe leaps with astonishing speed back into his seat.

"Uh, yeah! Definitely." "Don't question me, you hag."

Signora looks between them, then sweeps her bangs from her face, letting out something of an extended sigh of disgust.

"I'm leaving," she declares, evidently having reached her limit of tolerating their presences for the day. "Show up on time tomorrow."

In a wintry blast of Cryo energy, she drifts out of the room, taking her several manservants with her and leaving Scaramouche alone with Childe. A moment goes by, where they most definitely do not let out mutual sighs of relief.

Then--

"Come on, I'll show you the best place to buy me lunch."

"And why am I paying for you?"

"It's your fault I'm hungry!"

Perhaps it's a testament to how out-of-sorts Scaramouche is these days, because he does end up buying Childe lunch. In fact, even Childe looks enormously disturbed by this, staring at the Liyuen dish before him in astonishment before he breaks open his chopsticks and gets to work.

Three seconds later, he abandons his chopsticks in favor of a fork, which provides Scaramouche with glorious entertainment value until Childe has finished enough of his food to start talking again.

"So what even happened to you?"

Scaramouche ignores the question in favor of glaring down at the bill, fishing out the appropriate amount of Mora to cover the costs. He doesn't even bother to dignify the other with a response until the plates are cleared away and they're walking well away from the restaurant, before he finally lets out a sigh.

"What," he says flatly, and it's clear that Childe has been waiting to be indulged in this all along, because he jumps into conversation with no hesitation.

"Do you know why I like hanging out with you? Well, I kind of don't, but do you know why I would like hanging out with you?"

"I've literally never once cared about what you like. I'm not about to start now."

"It's because you're so easy to piss off," Childe continues, ignoring Scaramouche's response. "So it's really easy to get a decent fight out of you. But now it's like you're not even trying!"

At this point, Scaramouche can't help but feel like speaking is akin to self-incrimination. He stays wisely silent, which doesn't seem to bother Childe at all, as the other has begun speculating to himself.

"...Let me guess, you got hit with lightning and it scrambled your personality. But you don't look all that burnt...or you--did you...you know?"

Scaramouche frowns, staring at the growing flush in Childe's cheeks, because he doesn't know.

"What?"

"You know! Did you get laid?"

Right. Sometimes Scaramouche forgets that Childe is both nineteen and an idiot.

Unfortunately, he's not enough of an idiot, because he's tilting his head now, something like realization rapidly crossing his face.

"Wait a minute, those rice balls--that lunch box--"

"No," Scaramouche cuts in, which does absolutely nothing to halt Childe's horribly correct train of thought.

"You did! Someone made those for you, I know you didn't do that for yourself."

Scaramouche's catalyst flickers to life behind him, and he ignores the murmur of alarm that runs through the nearby pedestrians in favor of aiming a blast of Electro at Childe's face. The other dodges gleefully, but apparently the topic of Scaramouche's nonexistent love life is a matter of great importance to him, because he doesn't even take the opportunity to attack back.

"This is a good thing! Why are you mad? Do they not like you back?"

Scaramouche's next bolt of lightning sputters out in an incredibly exposing way, matches the sudden hesitation that passes through him at this last part, because how the hell is Scaramouche supposed to know that?

He must not do a good enough job of concealing the infuriated confusion on his face, because Childe drops in beside him, reaches up a hand to fix the mask resting in his hair.

"Quick tip--don't shoot lightning at them, first of all."

Well, Scaramouche has already failed that. Great.

"Second, people like you more when you buy them stuff."

"No wonder you have to spend so much time shopping," Scaramouche snaps, but he pauses again, a flash of red catching his sudden attention.

Against his will, he drifts over to the source of it, a vendor with a kind smile and an assortment of accessories spread out on a wooden table. Amongst the jeweled stones and carved rocks, there's a distinctly more natural choice of items, lightly-pressed, soft-scented leaves.

They're preserved in a way that ensures long-lasting life, but Scaramouche can still feel the wind in them when he picks one up.

"They're pretty, right?" The vendor comes over to his side when she notices what he's looking at, patting another leaf like it with pride. "These aren't easy to get, you know--fresh from Inazuma, and we all know what it's like over there."

Scaramouche traces a finger over the center of it, following the pattern of its delicately webbed veins, the fiery red of the maple leaf burning bright against his palm.

"How much for this one?"